


something beyond

by eleutherya



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Requited Unrequited Love, Season/Series 04, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleutherya/pseuds/eleutherya
Summary: "The bay isn’t visible from the rebel encampment, but he faces it as surely as a compass points north. Up on the fort, Flint stands with his back straight and his shoulders set, his hands folded neatly behind him. He stands there as though, if he simply waits long enough, if he hopes hard enough, the sea will return John Silver to him."Madi and Flint have a discussion about grief after losing John Silver. Set directly after 4x01.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw & Madi, Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Madi/John Silver, Madi/John Silver
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	something beyond

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction in 7+ years and I've never written historical fiction of any kind, but Black Sails has consumed my life, so here I am. Apologies in advance for the pain but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Content Warnings: spoilers up to 4x02; (presumed) death; drowning imagery; grief; mentions of war, injury, and insanity; both romantic Madi/Silver and romantic Silver/Flint.

It has not yet been a day since the sea claimed John Silver, and Madi cannot sleep. Her bones and eyes ache something awful with exhaustion, but attempts at rest bring nothing but horrors into her mind. Memories of John tumbling into the deep: his wild flailing limbs tangled into rope, the damning absence of him once the water settled. Vivid imaginings of the fate that awaited him underneath the surface: the way he must have scrambled for freedom, the fear that must have overwhelmed him as the ocean gripped its prey. No. Madi cannot sleep. 

When she emerges from the cottage, it takes no time at all to spot the familiar stature she seeks. The bay isn’t visible from the rebel encampment, but he faces it as surely as a compass points north. Up on the fort, Flint stands with his back straight and his shoulders set, his hands folded neatly behind him. He stands there as though, if he simply waits long enough, if he hopes hard enough, the sea will return John Silver to him. 

Madi stops at the well, sets a hand on Kofi’s chest and gives him a solemn nod. He understands, and when she continues her path, he follows only with his eyes and not his feet. There is no question that she is safe with Flint now. The spirit of John Silver will demand it to be so. 

“You are capable of many incredible things, Captain,” she says as she approaches. He doesn’t turn to her. Doesn’t acknowledge that he’s heard her at all. “Things many men would call impossible. But I do not believe raising the dead, especially from such a distance, to be one.” 

She stands alongside him and looks out over the fort, holds onto the wooden structure with both hands. The dwindling night is preparing for dawn’s arrival, the dark veil just beginning to lift into something grey and dull. From the edge of Madi’s vision, she sees the corner of Flint’s mouth quirk up into the ghost of an amused smile. She doesn’t have to look at him to know it does not meet his eyes, for it dies as quickly as it was born. 

“Perhaps it is the mark of a mad man,” he replies, “to be attempting something so unfathomable. It would not be the first time someone affixed the title of insanity to my endeavours.” 

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it is simply the mark of a man with no better options.” 

Flint is quiet. She can understand why he stands here. In the still of the night, she can imagine it so perfectly that she might almost believe it to be real: John stumbling out of the greenery alive and wet and beautiful. Her heart bleeds with agony. How she wishes it could be real. 

The way they stand together now reminds her of how they stood on the beach, breaths held, eyes fixed on every last approaching longboat. A singular heartbeat in two bodies, so unlike how she challenged his position with Billy mere hours ago. It reminds her of what she joined him to discuss. 

“You and I may have our differences, Captain, but as his friend, it is only right that you should know…” Madi pauses, and sighs. Stands a little straighter as though it may cure the heartache. “What I shared with John Silver had developed into something beyond friendship.” 

Flint’s chin tilts ever so slightly upwards. “I suspected.” 

Madi turns to face him then. It is a delicate thing, what she is about to speak into the world, and it must be handled with care. 

“As I suspect that what you shared with him had grown into something beyond friendship also.” 

He has been so unnervingly still since she came to him — it is a talent they both possess, to soothe the temptation for restlessness and allow themselves to simply be — and yet somehow, he manages to grow stiller. It is as though he has turned to stone; there is no need for oxygen when you are not of the living. Madi watches, with patience and understanding, until his throat bobs around an uncomfortable swallow and his eyes alone flicker over to meet hers. 

“I don’t believe I know what you mean.” 

She and John had lain in bed together such a short while ago, speaking of need and friendship. _Whatever he is to you, whatever you are to him,_ she had said, _I don’t believe you need him to be the man you are._ What she did not care to consider at the time was how deeply Captain Flint still needed _him._ What she failed to consider altogether was that perhaps they should have talked less about needs and more about wants. John stuck by Flint’s side not because he needed to but because he wanted to, because something beyond mere circumstance kept him there. 

She had suspected that Flint was not driven by the same things, but she sees differently now. She sees that perhaps Flint wanted John’s companionship more than John ever wanted his. She sees that perhaps, when John had kissed her desperate and grateful at the end of their talk, it was gratitude not solely for her reassurances but for her willingness to leave certain things — things beyond _need_ and _duty_ — unspoken as well. 

Flint would be grateful for the same mercy now, Madi is certain, but it is too important to let it lie. So instead she smiles, fleeting and half-hearted. 

“Ignorance does not become you, Captain.” 

Flint’s lips part as if to speak, then close again. His eyes return to the land. This time, Madi can see the way his nose moves to breathe, the slight tremor of his upper lip. A muscle in his jaw shifts as his teeth clench. 

“He and I were partners in many ways.” His voice is measured, his words carefully chosen. “In this war. In leading our men. In our quest for the gold. But if you mean to imply that he and I were partners in bed, ma’am, you are most sorely mistaken.” 

Less prepared souls would be chilled by the void of emotion, the threat that lurks underneath the steady tone, but Madi is a ruler just as he is and she can see beyond it. She doesn’t apologise. Doesn’t waver. 

“One does not need to have shared a bed with someone, to be bonded with them as though they had.” His eyes cut to hers sharply, briefly. It is a warning to cease the path she’s on. Madi continues nonetheless. “I see it haunting you, Captain. You do not grieve for him as a friend. You grieve for him as a widower grieves for a wife — as I, too, grieve for him. I do not believe I am mistaken at all.” 

His next breath shudders out of him like he has been holding it in for centuries. Even with the light of dawn not yet upon them, she can see the thundering of his heartbeat in the line of his neck, the careful way he licks his trembling lips. His militarian posture breaks, hands falling to his sides and furling into fists. 

When his eyes once more find hers, finally, they stay. They are wild, almost feral in the way they bore into hers — some might say dangerous, but Madi sees it for the fear it is. When he speaks, Flint’s voice wavers with the emotion he has tried so desperately to withhold. His control unravels easily now that his secrets are laid bare. 

“Do you bring this notion of yours to light because it displeases you? Because you feel the need to stake some sort of claim over a dead man?” 

Many things displease Madi where Flint is concerned, but in this moment, her heart aches for him — for herself, too, and everything they’ve lost. She reaches out and touches his wrist, so gentle it’s barely even a whisper of contact. He twitches. 

“On the contrary. I am hoping that if we share our truths, as we once shared him, we might also share in the lessening of our grief. Otherwise, I fear all that has gone unsaid may wield the power to swallow us whole.” 

Something flickers in the line of his brow, almost like she has poured salt in a familiar wound, but it is gone before she can be certain. The fear, too, bleeds out of him, leaving weariness in its wake. 

“I’m not convinced it can be that simple. I—” He stops. Takes a measured breath, like he might crack open entirely if he doesn’t. “I’m not sure this kind of grief can be lessened.” 

She thinks of how she found him that evening, kneeling in the dusty kitchen, cradling what was once a teacup. Even in her rage — her fear that he would allow their war to die with its king — she believed not even the most talented artist in the world could capture the feeling of grief as spectacularly as that sight. It is her turn to choose her words carefully. 

“He spoke to me once of the depths you descended into after a loss of similar magnitude. How he hoped that his presence, his guidance — the steps he took into the darkness after you — would one day allow you to find your way to the surface.” 

Pain flashes across Flint’s face like a knife. His eyes fall closed. 

“He did,” he whispers, hoarse and strained. “It did.” 

She lifts her hand from his wrist to his bicep, and presses a firm, grounding grip into the tense muscle there. 

“Then I hope you will consider allowing us to be that for each other in the coming days. Anchors, to ensure we do not lose ourselves in the trenches of our misery.” 

He is quiet for a long moment. Then he breathes in deep through his nose, as though summoning the strength, and opens his eyes. They shimmer with unshed tears. Madi has wept her fill in the last day and she would not deny him the same, though she suspects he won’t let her see it. Not yet. 

“Okay,” he rasps, with a single sharp nod. 

“Good.” She squeezes his arm, then releases it. “For now, I must check on our wounded. But when the sun has risen, you and I shall eat together. I suspect not even death would be enough to stop John Silver from giving us hell if we chose to waste away in his name.” 

Flint scoffs, surprised and quick. His expression softens into gratitude. 

“You are a remarkable woman.” 

It is almost reverent, the way he murmurs it. When Madi’s mouth curls into a small amused smirk, it is the first nice thing she has felt since the invasion. 

“I know.” 

His smile matches her own, fond and bittersweet, and although they both fade as Madi takes her leave, their bleeding hearts are still warmed by the moment. 

She does not know how she will move on from the grief that rages inside her. She doesn’t know if, perhaps, Flint is right, and the grief will resist all her attempts to ease it. But she knows, if it _is_ possible, it will only be so with Flint at her side. 

The woman she was yesterday would scoff at the concept. 

_(The woman she becomes tomorrow, when Flint stands against Billy Bones and chooses humanity over victory, is unrecognisable entirely. But better for it, she thinks)._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I have a much longer Flint-centric piece and a much more light-hearted Lost In Space piece in the works, so if you enjoyed this one-shot, keep an eye out for those.


End file.
